


cradle

by deathlytireddan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Virtual Reality??, click for disappointment!, this is just a little incomplete thing i found in my drafts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14413143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlytireddan/pseuds/deathlytireddan
Summary: He wakes up with a gasp and an echo of pain in his chest. He’s still inside the Cradle, mask over his face and yellowish goop surrounding him, needles in his wrists and neck.Black, again.





	cradle

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this is. I wrote it after the fortnite vid and then promptly forgot about it until now, when I was going through my drafts. I think it’s kind of cool? So here. Have this...thing.
> 
> Warnings: Strong languages, Dan takes antidepressants, general creepiness? Addiction? I really don’t know what else. I’m sorry!!

Dan is running, gun discarded somewhere behind him. He’s out of ammo, is more worried about surviving this minute than the next. 

His breaths come in sharp bursts, painful against his bruised—maybe broken—ribs. He hasn’t had time to check them. 

The world turns red, blinking harshly in the night. Dan slips on wet grass, _no no no no no, I just need another minute_ , falls to his knees and gasps as something snaps in his chest and he falls on his face in a puddle of mud, filling his mouth with dirt.

The world blinks red again, behind his eyes this time, the sound of an alarm not unlike a school bell, shrill and uncomfortable and—

Nothing.

—

He wakes up with a gasp and an echo of pain in his chest. He’s still inside the Cradle, mask over his face and yellowish goop surrounding him, needles in his wrists and neck.

Black, again.

—

Dan wakes up, properly this time, on a soft bed with nothing but a towel over his hips. His skin tingles like he’s been roughly scrubbed down. The room is small and white, a mirror on the ceiling showing him his dark eyes. 

The faint red holes in his neck and along his wrists, where they pump him with artificial endorphins and adrenaline, throb faintly.

He sits up, taking his clothes off the bed and dressing quickly, mindful of the door that’ll open any second. 

It does, just as he’s finished buttoning his shirt. This one is an especially bored looking college student, uniform buttoned the wrong way and barely giving Dan a second glance.

He squeezes past them and out into the narrow hall. It’s long, lined with doors that lead into identical little white rooms. 

Dan knows this place like the back of his hand and doesn’t need to follow the large multicolored arrows on the floor, showing him the way out.

He’s lucky he doesn’t get lost in the endless halls—this place is always understaffed. 

He goes round the back, like always, pushing open the emergency exit door and descending the stairs quickly. His car waits around the back, where it’ll take him directly to the law firm.

And reality.

—

It’s a usual day day at work, going over paperwork and drinking espresso shots, sneaking a nap during his lunch break, and trying not to pick at the scabs on his neck. 

They’re mostly hidden by his uncomfortable shirt collar. Dan doesn’t really need to hide them, more than half of his coworkers don’t, but he’s discovered clients cooperate more when he doesn’t act like every other rich fuck.

—

The next morning is a Saturday. Dan eats part of a banana, finds the rest is too squishy and tosses it into the bin. He makes a proper coffee with creamer for the first time in a while, instead of the espresso shots that make his head ache and his hands shake.

He pops his antidepressants into his mouth and swallows them with a bit of half—chewed biscuit. 

It’s all so _boring._

—

He goes for a run, like his therapist always tells him to. It’s more for her than for him, or at least that’s what he tells himself. 

It makes the guilt go down just a bit, like a bitter pill, and he gets out the restless energy that builds in himself from nights of laying in the Cradle and days of leaning over a desk. 

He’ll take the slight ache in his calves and thighs if it’ll at all justify what he does to himself. 

—

Dan showers, and then he’s off. 

—

He’s lead to another white room, possibly the one he was in yesterday and the day before that, or possibly not. He can’t really tell. The smell of disinfect stays the same. Citrus and something else. 

Dan takes off his clothes, folds them at the end of the bed and lays down with a towel over his bottom half. It’s not going to stay there for long, but it’s supposed to make him feel better. 

He feels his eyes slip closed just as they enter the room, bored and impatient as always. 

Dan can more than understand the addiction, the _need_ , but the one bit he’ll never understand is this little white room. He’s only in it for a few minutes, before being taken to another, bigger room. 

He’s only seen it in adverts, always completely asleep by the time he’s pushed into it. It’s full of rows of Cradles. People float in the goop, limbs making strange movements, veins connected to tubes and faces covered in breathing masks.

Maybe the room is for privacy. A sort of barrier. A way to pretend you’re stronger than you really are.

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> My [tumblr](https://mylionbabe.tumblr.com)


End file.
